


Cast from the Flock

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Nothing but Smut! [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Castiel, Demon Dean Winchester, Loss of Faith, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Pain, Prayer, Priest Castiel, Top Dean, Top Dean Winchester, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3007781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His faith is just about all he has, and he clings to it tightly; but when nightmares keep him from resting, Castiel wonders why God isn't there to help. He feels himself start to sink, until a tall, green eyed stranger waltzes into his church. It doesn't take long for him to question his faith entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cast from the Flock

            “Father?”

            “Yes my child?”

            “Do you _enjoy_ being a man of the cloth?”

            The altar boy can’t be older than thirteen. Castiel has to admit, he’s impressed with the question coming from someone so young.

            “Yes. I find it very fulfilling.”

            “Because you get to help people?”

            “ _That_ , and I get to be closer with God this way. It makes me very happy to know that I am serving in his name. I feel like my soul is being cleansed.

            The boy nods thoughtfully, before giving him a kind smile and walking away.

            Castiel tilts his head a little, “Was that _all_?”

            The boy turns back, grinning wide. “Yes, Father. I don’t want any more from you.”

            He collapses as the boy’s eyes turn black. He watches in horror as all the flesh melts down, leaving a tiny skeleton, bare and erect among the pews.

            “ _Oh my_ —”

            “Shh … now, now, Father – don’t take _his_ name in vain!” The bones, still holding bits of muscle and entrails drag up close once more. The black eyes rock in the empty skull, somehow focusing and widening when leaning in close to Castiel’s face. “What kind of lamb would you be if you did that?”

            He screeches, shooting up from his sweat soaked pillow. It’s the third nightmare in three nights. He’s prayed, he’s searched his soul and confessed every sin he could think of—but still the dreams plague him.

***

            The following day feels long. Not many come into the church and even fewer need his help for anything. He finds that all he can do it practice his sermons and read his favorite scriptures—making him feel even worse when the actions bore him. He’s sitting in a pew, feeling as if he could finally fall asleep, when the squeak of the doors, echo behind him.  Castiel turns to see a tall man standing in the entryway. He’s rugged looking and his old jeans are mussed and dirty. His blonde hair catches the orange and red lights filtering through the stained glass His eyes catch the greens. Overall, he doesn’t appear to be the usual type to stop into his church on a Tuesday afternoon.

            “Hello, son, can I help you in some way?”

            The man turns to focus on him, eyes flashing emeralds in a way that Castiel can’t quite understand.

            “ _Yes, Father_ … you can answer a question for me.”

            Castiel stands up, feeling a tinge of excitement at the man’s request. _He finally has something to do._ “ _Certainly!_ Is it a matter of faith?”

            “ _Always,_ Father” the man hisses.

            Castiel stops mid-way down the aisle, feeling a little punch by the tone in the man’s voice.

            “Wh-what is your question, child?” He grips tightly to his bible.

            “ _My question_? Well … I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”

            Castiel shifts his weight between his shoes, feeling very heavy all of a sudden. “It doesn’t matter if the question is _old_ to me, as long as it is _important_ to you.”

            The man grins before taking, long, slow strides towards the black, cloaked priest.

            “I just want to know, Father … do you _enjoy_ being a man of the cloth?”

            Castiel’s breath hitches. The man quickens his pace and soon, he’s standing right in front of him.

            “ _See_ … I knew you’ve heard the question before.”

            “ _How_ —how did you—?”

            “How did I know you’ve heard it?” The man’s eyes flash black.

            Castiel stumbles back, tripping over his own feet, falling and hitting his elbow on the back of a pew.

            “Oh, _come on_ , Father! It’s not like you haven’t seen this before … you shouldn’t be so frightened.”

            “I’m dreaming! I am dreaming! I need to wake up!” Castiel yelps, scooting backwards as the man inches closer.

            “Not this time, you’re not. You see … _I_ should know. I was the one scratching around in your head, giving you all those sweet lullabies.”

            Castiel feels his jaw drop. “ _You?”_

            “The one and only!” The man gleams, taking one more, long step, pressing his boot down onto the loose fabric of the priest’s pant leg.

            He pulls, and claws, but he might as well be nailed to the floor boards. The monster won’t let him crawl away.

            “ _Oh,_ why do you want to leave? We’ve been getting to know each other _so well_ these last few nights!” The man kneels down, still keeping his weight on his foot, holding Cas there by the seams. “I thought you were starting to warm up to me …”

            Castiel watches as the man’s eyes flicker back to a brilliant green. “Who … _who are you?_ ”

            “ _What,_ like, my name? Well … my name is Dean. But, if you want to know the kind of creature I am, well … your kind lovingly calls us _demons._ ”

            Castiel feels his gut sink to the floor. _Demons_. The word bounces about his hollowed body. _He is a good man_. _He has given his mind and soul over to God! How could he be dealing with demons? How did he deserve this?_

            “ _See_ , now that’s your problem. It’s all about _you_ up in that head. That’s probably why God isn’t helping you now” the beast snickers. “Personally, I think that guy skipped town ages ago.”

            Castiel feels an anger creep over his sweaty skin. “God is _still_ here!”

            Dean laughs. “ _Sure,_ if that’s true … why don’t you pray to him and see what happens. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.”

            He watches as the demon picks at his nails and hums, mockingly, waiting for Castiel to beg for divine assistance. Castiel keeps his mind quiet.

            “ _No?_ Not asking him for anything? Are we just being spiteful at this point?”

            Castiel shakes again, “ _Can you_ … can you read my thoughts?”

            “Oh yeah—and I gotta say, you don’t confess _nearly enough_. You have some dirty stuff rolling around up there.”

            “I confess _everything!_ ” His indignation raises his courage, but it quickly tempers as the demon pulls himself upright once more.

            “Come now … we both know _that’s_ not true.”

            Castiel swallows hard.

            “We both know how you feel about certain men that come in here; and _everyone_ knows how God apparently feels about _those_ kinds of desires.” Castiel watches as Dean slowly lifts his foot, releasing him from his hold. He scurries up, rubbing his sore elbow and backing away again. “Why do you think I started paying attention to you in the first place?”

            The priest shakes his head, finally turning around to run for the back door.

            The demon appears in his path, cutting him off before he could get any further.

            “ _Yeah …_ not only can I read minds, but I can totally appear _anywhere_ I want, at any time. _No use running._ ”

            Castiel breaks, falling to his knees and burying his face in his hands. “Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners—”

            “ _Oh, Jesus_! Hail Mary? _Really_? That chick was just a whore with a donkey.”

            Castiel snaps his head up, eyeing the demon with angry tears streaking his cheeks.

            “What? You mad? Oh … _you are_ … you’re pretty _sexy_ when you’re angry.” The demon kneels down again, this time, leaning his face in close to Castiel’s. “I don’t want to hear about Mary in that pretty, little head of yours … I want to hear more of those impure thoughts.” The demon is nearly purring. “Now, tell me … would _I_ elicit any of _those_ kinds of images in your dirty, mind?”

            Castiel leans back, feeling his tears recede. _What’s happening? What is going on?_

            Dean grins. “Don’t act so shocked. You have to know, you’re a sexy man. Like I said before, your filthy way of thinking is what made me take an interest in you. And then those eyes along with those, nasty thoughts …” The demon licks his full, pillowly lips. “ _Well,_ I just want to know if a sinner like me has a chance with such a _naughty_ angel.”

            The priest shudders, feeling his body betray his mind. The demon’s jaw clenches and his eyes glow—setting Castiel’s skin on fire.

            “I think you _like_ me …”

            “No … no …” Castiel spits, closing his eyes and falling back on his haunches.

            “ _Yes_ …”

            “No!” he screeches and the demon tilts his head back to let out a barking laugh.

            “See, that’s what I don’t get about all this religion-crap. The moment you want something, your religion tells you it’s a _sin_. What’s the point in living if everything you do is supposedly _wrong_?”

            Castiel ducks his head and covers his ears. The deep, rumbling voice billowing out of the demon’s mouth is making him harden in ways that wreck him with guilt.

            Dean balls his fists on the ground, crawling towards the cowering man in front of him. “Come now, little lamb. I’m not pulling you from your flock.” He creeps in close, licking the seam of the priest’s lips. “A dirty, animal like _you_ … well, you never _had_ one.”

            Castiel shakes harder, wanting to pull away but his sinful body pushes him into the wet, stick of the demon’s touch.

            “ _See,_ you want to be bad, _just like me_.” He leans in once more, biting the priest’s lower lip. “I can teach you _so much_ about damning your perfect, little soul.”

            “Stop!” Castiel hollers, leaping up and trying to run again. He feels hands grab into his shirt and hurl him against the far wall. He hears the paintings shutter in their frames as his body smacks into the plaster.

            “ _Don’t run_ from me … it only turns me on more.” The demon presses into him, flattening his hands onto the priest’s chest and rubbing the fabric, smooth along his collar bone. “You certainly feel nice and dirty under this blessed cloth.”

            Castiel looks away as he feels the blood rush to his waist.

            “ _Oh_ … well, it appears that I’m pressing the right buttons!”

            Castiel shakes his head hard until his neck pops _, “Lord, hear my prayer!”_

            “I told you before, he _ain’t_ _listening_.” The demon leans in and licks up Castiel’s neck, higher and higher until he reaches the man’s ear. He dances his tongue around the fleshy curves, making the priest shake and bend with each movement.

            “He _has_ to be …”

            “ _Why?”_ Dean whispers, low and gravely, like a hurricane in his head.

            “Because …” Castiel can’t bring the words out into the world.

            “Because, if he isn’t listening, you’re going to give in to me?” The demon bites the straining tendons along his throat.

            Castiel welds his eyes shut and chokes on the muggy air between them.

            “I can read your thoughts, _remember_ … I already know the answer, so you might as well _say it_.” The demon’s words vibrate against his skin. “Are you going to give into me?”

            The heat bursts inside him, “ … _yes_.”

 ***

            The lump in his throat finally slides down and Castiel feels like he can breathe again.

            The demon continues nipping at the taut skin along his neck, while sliding his scalding fingers beneath the man’s shirt, feeling every inch of his quivering stomach.

            “You don’t need to be scared anymore, I’m going to take _real_ good care of you” the demon groans, leaving the priest’s throat, slick with hot-breath.

            Castiel reaches up to grip the demon’s wrists, pulling them away and forcing him back. “I’m _not_ scared. I’m _eager.”_

            Dean’s face blanks.

 Castiel soaks in the tension that’s rising within the beast. “What’s wrong? The devil is out of sinful words?”

            Dean pulls his arms from Castiel’s grasp, letting his wild eyes dance about the man’s face. He bobs and sways, as if trying to find a specific spot within the human’s raging pupils. “ _What?_ Why, why can’t I hear your thoughts anymore?”

            The priest cocks his head to the side, grinning wildly, pushing closer to the demon. “Perhaps … perhaps darkness can’t see darkness.” The man’s blue eyes spark, causing the Dean’s to flash black once more. He takes another step back as the priest snakes a hand into the waist band of his jeans.

            “Just how dark _are_ you?” Dean hisses, finally halting his retreat as Castiel frees the button of his pants.

            “How dark are you going to _make_ me?”

            Dean’s face finally twists back to its original, wicked cheer. “Whatever you are … I think _I like_ _it.”_ The demon shoots his hands up, seizing the man by his shoulders and throwing him back; but Castiel only laughs as his body smashes against the wall. Dean rushes forward, pushing into him and kissing him hard. Their teeth click against each other—biting at tongues and lips, whatever falls between them. Castiel finishes his work with the demon’s jeans, sliding down the zipper and thrusting his hands beneath the fabric to feel the rigid shaft that’s burning and throbbing _for him_.

            The priest moans as he grips it, humming more as the demon gasps with his touch. “I’ve waited – _so long_ …”

            Dean rears his head back, closing his eyes and talking to the vaulted ceiling, ensuring all his corrupted breath, flows straight to the angels. “ _I can tell_ …”

            Gravity and the anxious thrust of the man’s hands make quick work of removing the rest of the demon’s clothes. He pulls away from wet lips to look at him—this devil that walked into his church. The devil that came into the house of the holy, ridding it of everything good. A laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him—from deep within the pit that has always held doubt of the heavens. _If God is beauty and love, and everything he should be gripping, why is this damned thing in front of him so easy to hold? Why are those ever changing eyes, rooting deep into the skin they gaze upon? Why can he feel each touch from blood-stained fingers, as if they were given with the most pure intent?_ The pit of doubt consumes him completely now. _No, God is wrong. It’s not as black and white as heaven and hell. Not with a beast like this straddling the line._

            Dean leans away, looking as though he’s still trying to get inside the priest’s head. Castiel smiles wickedly, loving that he’s thwarted some of the creature’s control. He looks down over the naked flesh spread out in front of him— _one of God’s finest works_. Who knows if this demon possessed some poor soul, or if he belongs to the beauteous skin gracing these muscles. Guilt _should_ be taking over now, making him sign the cross over his body and fall to his knees in prayer, begging to save the man that might be locked away by this devil; but instead, Castiel sneers, leaning in and running his hands down the length of the demon’s torso. The priest soaks up the touch. He’s longed to feel another man beneath the pads of his fingers. He’s thirsted for the taste of a peer’s tongue, pressing against his own. Little did he know, when he’d finally give in … it would be with a maker of sin—and a peer in ways he’d never expect.

            The demon grabs the man and spins him towards the pews, tossing him down flat on the seat. Castiel’s spine grinds on the wood and he finds, he welcomes the sting in his bones. Dean pulls away at his cloth—ripping out the white collar and shredding the black to release every inch of smooth skin that’s starved for sunlight.

 “ _Why do you hide this?_ ” the demon moans, rearing up to look over the man. For a moment, the priest senses a hint of sincerity in the creature’s voice.

            Castiel lays there, his body open and bare for God to see—only a few scraps of cloth still dangling from his limbs. Dean leans over him, letting his shadow bathe all his milky white plains in black once more. Soon, freckled, plumped lips are brushing gently along his chest. Castiel shudders from the contrast; his back still aching from the demon’s violence, and his front, purring with his every caress. A hand slides over his hip to collect his thrumming cock. Castiel gasps as he’s gripped and stroked, pushing out little droplets with each pass.

            “You’re easier to _damn_ than I thought you would be” the demon growls, kneeling down on the floor as he works the man over. “I thought I’d have to _break_ you.”

            “I was already shattered” Castiel moans.

            “ _No,_ you were _never_ broken.”

            The priest looks down in time to see Dean’s face soften a moment, just before twisting again and hovering over the head of his cock. He’s soon consumed within the mouth of the creature—he’s sucked down hard and fast by a snaking tongue and snarling lips. Castiel gasps, reaching out to clutch the back of the pews around him. His knuckles whiten as the demon eats him alive. The priest grins and laughs as the colorful face of a saint, leers at him from the window above. He would normally apologize, beg forgiveness; _but not now._ No, he relishes in the feeling of being _so_ wrong whilst submerged in a sea of right. Crosses and saddened eyes stab at him from every angle, but they only heighten his pleasure. Castiel can’t feel guilt anymore. _You can’t feel guilt over leaving something you’ve never belonged to_.

            Dean slides off his cock with a _pop_ , licking his lips and grinning at the wrecked man beneath him. “Are you ready to have even _more_ fun?”

            Castiel bursts forward, grabbing the demon and yanking him back over his naked flesh. He squirms beneath the weight, loving how their skin sticks and pulls when melded. “ _Corrupt me_ …” he growls, biting Dean’s shoulder, making the creature writhe on top of him.

            “ _Fuck_ … you’re more of a sinner than me!”

            “Then you better try and keep up!” Castiel spits, reaching down to pull at the demon’s leaking cock. He grips and slides, twisting his wrist around to work over the purpled head. The priest inhales deeply as the scent of arousal and sweat fills the room. He wonders how he’s lived all these years without ever breathing it in. He wonders if he’s only been dying slowly until now.

            Dean shuts his eyes and shakes on top of him, relinquishing the reins for the first time since he burst onto this hallowed ground. Castiel licks up the beast’s straining arms, watching them quiver as he takes on another attack from the priest’s hand.

            “What do you want to _do_ to me, demon?”

            Dean’s eyes slit open—now black and glimmering against the candle light that flickers from across the room. Castiel feels himself throb with the sight of those ebony orbs, turning down to collect him. The man’s pupils blow until his sockets are nearly as dark as the demon’s.

            “How ‘bout I _show_ you?” Dean hisses and Castiel grins in response.

            Dean lifts himself up, bringing his curved palm to this mouth and spitting into its cup. He lowers, slathering the mess onto his shaft and rubbing sticky circles over the head … never taking his black eyes off the priest below him. Castiel squirms eagerly, feeling his body open up, begging for something he’s never had, but knows he wants. The demon puts a knee onto the pew beside Castiel’s bent leg, lowering himself until his cock is level with the priest’s.

            Dean hovers, letting his eyes clear, piercing the man with emerald and gold. “You sure you want to fall like this?”

            Castiel stares at him, “Don’t tell me the devil is hesitant to corrupt?”

            Dean scowls—his eyes darkening again before he bends down and thrusts his slicked cock inside the man. The priest howls. He body arches with the sting and tear. Every muscle snaps and contracts as the demon pulls in and out of him. He grits his teeth until his jaw cracks and he sees white flashes dance across his vision. Dean falls over his chest, clenching his fists and punching them on either side of the man’s head. Castiel watches through the blur as the beast’s eyes clear, and he moves from _villain_ to _man_ once more. Dean slows his movements, melting a bit into the warmth of the priest’s skin. Castiel collects himself, wincing from the pain and grinning from the fire burning through his veins. He feels _alive._ He feels awake. He feels human in all its flawed, glory. The sting recedes, and something new mixes in with the warming vibrations. Dean becomes more calculated, flowing into a peaceful rhythm that makes Castiel rock his hips along with each drum.

            “Are you alright?” Dean hums, dropping his head into the crook of the man’s neck.

            Castiel stares, confused at the rigid beams lining the ceiling, almost falling back into old habits and asking the heavens for clarity. _Why would the beast care?_ “Yes” he whispers

            Dean smiles into his throat and Castiel finds his hands trailing up to tangle in the demon’s hair. Dean continues to slide into him, hitting a spot within the priest that makes him moan and surge with fever. His cock twitches while Dean’s stomach rubs across it, giving an added sensation that builds within the man, until he’s a moaning mess. The beast finally pulls himself away, causing Castiel’s hand to fall from the nape of his neck.

            “Do you want to feel what sin can _really_ do … all the things you’ve been missing out on while cooped up in that confessional?” Another thrust pushes happy drops from the head of Castiel’s cock.

            “ _God, yes_!” the priest yelps.

            Dean moves faster, pushing harder, rocking the man back and forth, leaving his spine bruised and aching against the oak bench; but he only feels the demon, filling him up and pressing against something that has been locked away for far too long. A tightness winds him ‘round, twisting more and more, until he would hum if plucked. Dean grabs tightly to the man’s hips, using all his strength to smash their bodies together, letting the acoustics of the room echo with the sounds of colliding flesh.

            “Do you _feel_ that?” the demon grunts, “Do you feel it?”

            Castiel grapples for a hold—the pews, Dean’s wrist, _anything_ to gain a little traction—but the demon is moving too fast and thrusting too hard. His cock swells and aches. His stomach roils, and his brain blackens.

            “ _Tell me!_ Tell me you feel it!” Dean spits, his eyes switching from sinner to saint several times in a second.

            “Yes! _Jesus_ —yes!”

            A new heat explodes inside him. Castiel blinks through the flashes to see Dean, arching back, baring all his teeth. The priest stares as the beast’s broad chest expands, finally releasing a growl from the his throat. It sounds so evil, so _pure_ … it is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard behind these blessed walls. The man seizes as his body takes over, turning and clenching, before finally freeing—allowing him to spill and spurt across his own stomach. Dean gives him a final thrust, looking down to watch the man empty out the last few drops.

Dean grins, lifting his fingers to wipe the corner of his mouth. “I told you, you had _a lot_ to confess.”

            Castiel gasps, still clutching the wood backing of the seat. He feels his thrumming muscles finally calm, still twitching periodically, making him yelp, and the mess drip down his sides. He looks over, watching as the demon pulls back, sliding out of him. The priest winces from the void and the overwhelming sting that comes after. A hiss escapes his lips, causing him to close his eyes and tense until it subsides. When he finally looks upon the world again, Dean is leaning over him, with something close to _concern_ falling about his face.

            “Did I hurt you?”

            The priest almost laughs, but the sting returns in another wave that nearly splits him in two. “Why do you care?”

            The demon pulls away again, and the cool air that rushes into the gap pulls bumps from every inch of Castiel’s skin.

            “I’m a _demon,_ not heartless.”

            The man tilts his head as the next wave dissipates, leaving him flinching in a puddle of confusion. “Why … why _do_ you care?”

            Dean scoffs and looks away, as if his pride had just been bruised. “I _don’t_.”

            Castiel slides his arms back, struggling his body up until he’s propped on his elbows. “You shouldn’t lie to a priest.”

            Dean laughs, short and hardy, “Yeah, _right!_ I’d hardly call you a priest after that.”

            Castiel leans to one side, freeing a hand to reach out and grab the demon’s wrist. With a quick tug, the beast is looming over him, just an inch away from his face. “I think you _like_ me …”

            Dean bends a little, finally cracking a smile as his own words clamor back into his ears. “You caught me … guess I have a soft spot for the divine.”

            It’s Castiel’s turn to laugh now. He laughs low and long, until tears peek from the corners of his eyes, soaking the crinkles that have taken far too long to appear. He settles again and sees the demon, looking soft and kind; watching him shake with humor below him. “I think you were right the first time—I’m _hardly_ a priest, and I’m certainly _not_ divine.”

            Dean grins, leaning in to kiss the man once more, this time … gentler and more precise. He’s careful not to disturb the swelling marks on the man’s lips from his earlier bites, and the light touch even seems to soothe some spots. They stay there a moment, dipping into each other’s weight and melding into the other’s hold. The cool air of the church doesn’t seem as frigid anymore; instead, it’s comforting, like a pool on a hot day. Dean pulls away for a breath, smiling against the man’s lips. He scoots in, seating himself on the pew beside Castiel and gliding his palm along the smooth skin of the priest’s back.

            “So, _tell me_ , father … do you enjoy being a man of the cloth _now_?”

            Castiel grins, rushing his hand’s through the demon’s hair and clutching him tightly so he can’t possibly back away. “Not nearly as much as I like being the man to dirty it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: castiel-left-his-mark-on-me. Please take a look at my other works as well ... many more feels, hottness and angst!


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